I PS 3525 

.fi2743 
B6 

II 1922 

:! Copy 1 



m 

;itit>ill 

Mm 



!!ll!!t 

,,,1,1,1,1,. 

' ''M'llr 

m 



:i>l 






THEODORE F. MacMANUS 



:;:t;t;!i 




Class ._PS^6a^ 
Book._A^±5B6 



Gopyiiglitls^. 



32.'^ 



CORfRIGHT DEPOSm 



VERSES 



BY 

Theodore F. MacManus 

LL. D. 



OF THIS BOOK 

200 COPIES WERE PRINTED' 

OF WHICH THIS IS 



No,- 



TIBI SIT VIRTU 



I must not stain my shield; 

I must not smirch my sword; 

Whate'er the promised hoard 
I must not bend nor yield! 

My soul's accoutrement, 
Whate'er the gain or loss, 
To serve the ends of dross 

Must not be basely lent. 

I must stand up, erect, 

Grim guardian of myself; 

For pride of place or pelf 
Mine eyes must not deflect. 

God of the battle, Life, 

Give me the strength to lose; 
Give me the strength to choose 

Thy sweet inglorious strife. 

Nerve me to follow Right 

When Wrong would win acclaim; 

To spurn a fustian fame, 
Mocked by the hosts of might. 

Not mine, but Thine, the shield; 

Not mine, but Thine, the sword; 

My Captain and my Lord, 
Be Thine the strength I wield! 




A BOOK OF VERSE 

BY 

Theodore F. MacManus 
LL.D. 




DETROIT 
1922 









Copyright 1922 

by 

Theodore F. MacManus 

Ail rights reserved 



DEC 18*22 

1C1A602438 



jA> jr> t 




WHIMSIES 



Deo Gratias 

I'm glad I'm not a vacuum 
I'm glad I'm not a myth; 

I'm glad I'm not the sort of stuff 
They fill pin-cushions with. 

* * * 

But most of all I'm glad, O Lord, 
You did not make me Henry Ford. 



13 



Caution 

If everyone knew what I know, 
I would not be superior; 

And so I guess I'll lock my lips. 
And keep them all inferior. 



Conservation 

So many things to be written. 
So many things to be said. 

And all so good, I guess it's best 
To keep them in my head. 



14 



Cave Sedem! 

Beware the deadly Sitting habit, 
Or, If you sit, be like the rabbit, 
Who keepeth ever on the jump. 
By springs concealed beneath his rump. 

A little ginger 'neath the tail, 
Will oft for lack of brains avail; 
Eschew the dull and slothful Seat, 
And move about with willing feet! 

Man was not made to sit a-trance, 
And press, and press, and press, his pants; 
But rather, with an open mind. 
To circulate among his kind. 

And, so, my son, avoid the snare 

Which lurks within a cushioned chair; 

To run like hell, it has been found. 

Both feet, betimes, must spurn the ground. 



15 



Ammuricans 

Mother's very ordinary, 

Father's very coarse, 
Brother has a technique. 

Very like a horse; 
But we're all of us in earnest 

And we know what we're about — 
We're saving up acquaintances 

For Sister's Coming-Out. 

Father's made great progress 

Since he bought a foreign car — 
He bows to all the shofers; 

And knows just whose they are. 
To-day, the Richest Member 

Of our most Exclusive Club, 
Looked up as Father passed, and said: 

"Who is that noisy dub?" 

Last time, they blackballed Father 

By only twenty votes; 
He's feeling very hopeful 

Now he's bought some members' notes. 
He says you can't climb chimneys 

W^ithout a little soot; 
And if they shut the door on him — 

They'll have to break his foot. 

1161 



Brother's taking Latin, 

And Sister's taking French; 
But Father bats in English — 

And mostly from the bench. 
Mother's studying Silence, 

And Expression, and Repose; 
And I must say for Mother, 

She's a whale on all of those. 

We've taken up religion 

And it's helping us a lot. 
(Not so much the things you are 

As the things that you are not.) 
The family was Baptist, 

Before we came to town. 
But not many people know it, 

And we hope to live it down. 

Father's very Liberal, 

And Mother's very Broad, 
And all of us are narrow — 

Which makes it nice for God. 
Mother's strong for Charity, 

And Father's stronger still — 
He says it's advertising, 

And he's glad to pay the bill. 

We've outgrown Elbert Hubbard, 

And we're cautious about books; 
Folks want feeding more than reading, 



[17] 



So we go it strong on cooks. 
But still we're very cultured — 

O, very cultured, very! 
And Mother hopes, a year from now, 

To be quite Literary. 

We've even found a use for 

Brother's hands and feet — 
He falls upon a foot-ball, 

Like something good to eat. 
His picture in the paper 

Shows it pays to be a brute, 
If you can't achieve distinction 

By any other route. 

Mother's very ordinary, 

Father's very coarse. 
Brother has a technique, 

Very like a horse; 
But we're all of us in earnest 

And we know what we're about — 
We're saving up acquaintances 

For Sister's Coming-Out. 



18 



A Cheerful Thought 

You fret? 

And yet- 
Rich honors on your head 

Shall fall, 

And all 
The town shall see you homeward led! 

Some day, 

Wee ones, at play 
In the quiet, sunny street, 

Will stop. 

And drop 
Their toys, to run and greet 

You as 

You pass; 
And eager, hurried men, 

Will pause. 

Because, 
Perhaps, they knew you, when 

Your state 

Was not so great; 
The roar and rush of trade 

Will seem 

To lull, and dream. 
Before your cavalcade; 



19 



A curse 

Hurled at the hearse, 
By one impatient of delay, 
May mar 
And jar 
The progress of your kingly way, 
But, all in all. 
Beneath your pall 
You'll be the monarch of the day! 



[20] 




PRO PATRIA 



Flag-of-My-Heart 

Am I better man than my brother, my brother beyond the 

sea — 
Be he serf or slave, or prince or knave, am I better man than 

he? 

Because of a bit of bunting, because of its power and place, 
Shall I hold in scorn, as lesser-born, the man of alien race? 

He came from the womb of woman; he came from the self- 
same clay — 

In the sight of God, be he king or clod, what will his birth- 
place weigh? 

O, flag-of-my-heart, I love you! O, beautiful field of blue, 
O, shining stars and glorious bars, I pledge my soul to you! 

I wrap my love in your fluttering folds, and fling it to the 

wind; 
To the South and North, I send it forth, to the East and West 

in kind; 

To the lands that live in darkness, to the peoples sick with 

fear, 
From thy heart unfurled, to all the world, I make my message 

clear; 

[23] 



No better I than my brother; no better this land than thine; 
But under the stars and rippling bars, a gleam of hope 
divine; 

And we who herd in the cities, who barter our lives for wealth. 
Who fight for the power of a single hour, with sin and scheme, 
and stealth — 

We who are all unworthy — we are blazing a path for you; 
And naught can stay the halcyon day when Earth shall be 
born anew! 

Be not afraid of our folly, be not dismayed at our greed; 
We are children yet, and mayhap forget the days of our 
direst need; 

But our 'prentice hands are forging fast a chain of priceless 

worth, 
Whose links of gold shall bind and hold the nations of the 

earth. 

We are all unskilled in freedom, but our eyes begin to see 
Dawn faintly bright, the far-ofF light of new-found majesty. 

Have patience, O my brothers, have faith for a little while — 
We shall learn at length that the truest strength is love that 
knows no guile. 

If we vaunted ourselves unduly, 'twas the pride of an eager 
youth. 



24 



Fired with zeal for the common weal, thrilled with a mighty 
truth. 

Out of the wrack of ages we snatched that truth sublime; 
It fires us still, and by God's will, it shall, to the end of time! 

It shall lead and lift us upward, to a sterner strength of soul; 
It shall banish fear, and bring us near the freeman's destined 
goal. 

It shall help to speed the coming of a world-democracy — 
From greed of pelf, from greed of self, it shall give us liberty! 



[25] 



America 1898 

O can't you see her standing at the portals of the world, 
With her eager eyes exulting in the flag she's just unfurled, 
The favorite of Fortune, and the mistress of the Fates, 
The heir of all the ages, flinging back the futile gates, 
That frown upon her progress, and dispute the mighty 

power. 
Of a goddess come to realize the glory of her dower! 

She is young, and she is fearless; her heart is full of fire, 

And restless with the urging of unsatisfied desire; 

She has turned her back on darkness, and her brow is bathed 

in light 
That shall stir the sodden sleepers of the lands that live 

in Night. 
She will falter, she will stumble, she will fall and she will 

sin — 
She will suff"er for her folly, she will rise and she will win! 

O Thou who boldest nations in the hollow of Thy hand, 
Make plain to us Thy purposes, and help us understand 
The danger of our daring, and the weakness of our strength — 
The law of life, immutable, which layeth low at length 
The proudest of Thy peoples, when pride and lust combine 
To rob Thee of the glory and the tribute which is Thine! 



26 



America 1923 

Our feeble eyes are blinded by the nearness of our glory, 
We cannot see, we cannot read, we cannot tell the story 
Of what we do, and what we are, and whither we are tend- 
ing— 
We wrangle in the market-place, with miracles impending! 

We are children in a tempest; we are weaklings rich in 

treasure; 
We are giants struggling blindly with a strength we cannot 

measure. 
The gifts we prize the highest are the meanest in our dower; 
We cannot grasp, we have not guessed, the magic of the hour; 

We are living lives heroic, in an age of huge portent — 
We are smirking in the sunlight, seeking vain divertisement; 
But, like weavers born in darkness, with a blind facility, 
We are weaving wondrous beauties which our eyes shall 
never see; 

Our souls are growing stronger; we shall learn to stand erect. 
And grapple with our greatness, as a menace to be checked; 
And though warp and woof be tangled, and the weaver work 

awry. 
Out of chaos shall come order, though a million weavers die! 



27 



The Flag! The Flag! 

Now God be praised for the power to feel — 

For the throb and thrill, and the quick brain-reel, 

The choke in the throat, and the blur of tears, 

When we hear from afar, through a storm of cheers, 

The first faint notes of the bugle — and then, 

Like a thing of life over marching men. 

The first glad glimpse of beloved stars 

On a field of blue, and the glorious bars 

Of red and white — with a shimmer and shine 

That stirs the blood like a draught of wine! 



A Pledge! A Pledge! 

The sound of the drum and bugle we have followed around 

the world; 
Aye, cold and stark, we have left our mark wherever a flag's 

unfurled. 
Was there ever a wrong to be righted, there was the eager 

Celt- 
Southern morass, or mountain-pass, desert, or plain, or 

veldt; 
Never a land received us, that called for help in vain; 
We know our debt, and we don't forget — we pay and we pay 

again. 
We were there in rags and tatters, when Freedom's fight 

was won — 

[281 



First in the field, and last to yield, with glorious Washington. 

Read the rolls of the army — this is the truth you'll glean: 

In the heart of the hell of shot and shell, there was the flag 
of green! 

Yes, we have been good fighters, but what of our native 
land? 

What have we done, and what have we won — how does the 
record stand? 

We have fought for our new-found kinsmen, the homes that 
have made us free; 

Have we nothing left for the Isle bereft — our mother beyond 
the sea? 

We have even fought for England — is there nothing that 
we can do 

To clear the stain, and prove again, that Irish hearts are 
true ? 

What shall we say ? Shall it be a cheer to the boys we've left 
behind, 

A ringing cheer, with a lurking tear, of the heartfelt Irish 
kind? 

Aye, give it, lads, with all your voice, and all your soul- 
strength, too, 

God and the Right — an oath tonight — come, pledge your- 
selves anew! 



29 




CHILDHOOD 



The Little Boy in Me 

There is a little boy in me 
Whose feet are never still; 

They follow all the live-long day 
Upon his vagrant will. 



The wind has secrets for this boy 
Which no one else may hear; 

The trees hold stately audience 
For his most private ear. 

Upon his face, this little boy 

Has look of listening; 
His eyes are burned with eagerness, 

His heart is on the wing. 

The dawn so dull to you and me, 

To him is rosy red; 
It shouts to him insistently 

To leave his little bed. 

To leave his bed, and sally forth, 

On glad adventuring; 
To drink of life at every step, 

To leap, and dance, and sing. 



33 



The primal touch of God's own Hand, 

Is on this little boy; 
His is the golden stuff of life 

Which knows not yet alloy. 

God works a miracle for him 

In each recurrent morn — 
In every noon, and every night — 

In every day that's born. 

The wonder of Adamic day 

Is on the shining earth, 
All things are new and promising 

As when God gave them birth. 

All day long this boy in me, 

Moves restlessly about, 
All day long life calls to him 

With glad exultant shout. 

And all day long the man in me, 

Relentless turns away — 
O, little boy, O, little boy, 

I've lost the gift of play. 



34 



I Wish 

I wish I was the grocer's boy, 
With nothing on my mind, 

More serious than the antics 
Of the kids who 'hook behind.' 



I wish I had, each month, a girl. 
More radiant than the last; 

I wish my heart would do a dip. 
Whenever she walked past. 

I wish that circuses were still, 
A glimpse of fairy land, 

I wish that I would get cold chills 
Each time I heard a band. 



I wish the sharp staccato 
Of a ball against a bat. 

Produced a prickly feeling 
Just underneath my hat. 

I wish the feeble tugging, 
Of a sunfish on a line. 

Sent thrills of expectation. 
All up and down my spine. 

[351 



I wish that I could know again, 

The drugged, delicious sleep. 
That dragged me down, and down, and down. 

To some enchanted deep. 

I wish that friends, were friends, indeed, 

I wish I had not lost 
The gift of being generous, 

Without reckoning the cost. 

I wish the morn was wonderful, 

I wish the sky was 'great,' 
I wish that I could find content 

Just swinging on a gate. 

I'm tired of being logical, 

And sensible, and wise; 
I want to be erratic. 

And dote on cakes and pies. 

A thousand thoughts, like grasshoppers, 

A thousand June-bug joys. 
All these the Lord permits us, 

Because we're girls and boys. 

And when those thoughts are organized, 

The June-bug joys are dead; 
And nothing that's worth mentioning, 

Is left inside the head. 



36 



I want to be a grocer's boy, 

As lawless as a colt; 
Erratic as a water bug — 

A healthy, happy dolt. 

I want to try a million thoughts. 
And throw them all away; 

O, Lord! I want to be a boy, 
And play, and play, and play! 



[37: 



When We Played at Being Robbers 

When we played at being robbers in the bonfire's ruddy glare, 
Midst the humming and the drumming of the cricket-laden 

air, 
There was more of fear than courage in the beating of our 

hearts. 
But we huddled close together, and with many sudden starts, 
Drank in eagerly the stories that our boyish leader told, 
Of murderous encounters over hidden stores of gold. 



The shadows round about us, in a wild, fantastic dance. 
Seemed to take a form more awful with each quick-shifted 

glance. 
Our faces in the half-light looked strangely wan and white, 
And the eyes about the circle were unnaturally bright; 
But we laughed each other's fears away, and reveled in the joy 
Which a thorough case of horrors brings to ev'ry healthy boy. 

There was murder in the crying and the sighing of the breeze, 
And a thousand ghostly phantoms in the darkly swaying trees, 
The tree-toad chirped a warning, and the bullfrog's hoarse 

lament. 
Seemed to tell us that old Nature was on deeds of darkness 

bent; 
And "the very littlest boy" he felt so "bad" about it all. 
That he vented his emotions in a good old-fashioned bawl. 

[381 



Then great courage swelled within us, and we called him 

"Fraidycat," 
And assured him that no robber ever "bellered" out like that, 
Till "the very littlest boy" he felt his spirits rising fast, 
And vowed that he would stick to us unto the very last; 
So each frightened little robber raised his tremulous right 

hand; 
And swore he'd shed his life-blood for the honor of the band. 



If our mothers hadn't called us at a most exciting point. 
And knocked our dark connivings most completely out of 

joint, 
What might have come to pass I really dread to contemplate. 
But it's absolutely certain we'd have met a frightful fate; 
And each time I stop to dwell upon the doings of that night. 
The shadow of a gallows-tree intrudes upon my sight. 



39 



The Scissor-Grinder Man 

The scissor-grinder man with his pack upon his back, 
And his merry little wheel that was never known to slack, 
He is coming round to see us, and we're watching for him now, 
With his courtly salutation, and his funny little bow. 
And we wonder as we wait, if our joy'll be as great 
As it was when we scampered down to meet him at the gate. 

The scissor-grinder man, he was wondrously polite, 
And his teeth when he smiled, they were marvelously white; 
He was old and he was foreign, but he had a taking way. 
And his coming brought the sunshine to the very wettest 

day — 
Oh! we loved to stand about when he got his fixin's out. 
To watch the sparks a-flyin' and to greet 'em with a shout! 

The scissor-grinder man he had lots of work to do, 

For a dozen little legs at his slightest bidding flew, 

And the very oldest blades that our mothers used to keep. 

They were whetted on the wheel with its never-ending sweep; 

And we wanted no more praise than the gentle smiling gaze 

Of our patron, as he eyed us in a sort of mild amaze. 

The scissor-grinder man, he is fading from our sight, 
But oh, we'd like to find him, and take his hand tonight. 
And tell him how we loved him in the dear old long ago, 



40 



Before we learned to yearn for the things we didn't know; 
When the world was just a toy, made for every girl and boy, 
When our lives were full of changes, and ev'ry change a joy. 

The scissor-grinder man with his pack upon his back, 
And his funny little wheel that was never known to slack, 
He is coming round to see us, and we're watching for him now. 
With his courtly salutation and his funny little bow, 
And we wonder as we wait, if our joy'U be as great 
As it was when we scampered down to meet him at the gate! 



[41 



Good-bye Childhood 

I laughed as I stood in the roadway. 

Half turning to glance once more 
Where a glint of vagrant sunshine 

Stole in through the open door — 
I laughed, but my lips were trembling. 

And deep in my heart I knew 
That my other self, old schoolhouse, 

I had left behind with you. 

I laughed as I stood in the roadway. 

Chiding myself for the tears 
That hid the world in a cloud of mist, 

Like the wraiths of coming years. 
I laughed, and the ghost of childhood 

Fled from the empty mirth; 
The spirit of strife had risen. 

Though I knew not of its birth. 

I laughed as I stood in the roadway, 

x^nd flung my cap in the air; 
The woods, I thought, and the drowsy town, 

Had never looked half so fair, 
I laughed, but the mocking echo, 

Wavered and changed to a sigh; 
I cried, I'm afraid, old schoolhouse. 

When I bade you a last good-bye. 



42 




CHRISTMAS 



A Yule-Tide Pledge 

Because that True Love in a crib was born this day, 
Nothing but love I'll give to those who cross my way; 
Because that True Love hath been brother unto me, 
Brother to all my fellow men this day I'll be. 

Because that True Love bore the smart and sting of cold. 
Nothing my heart contains of warmth will I withhold; 
So, from my deepest heart of hearts, O dear friend take 
My full and free, unfettered love, for His sweet sake. 



[45] 



Speak Out, My Heart 

God helping me, this blessed day. 
Armor and shield I'll put away; 
Yea, I shall cast my lance aside, 
And like a garment dofF my pride. 



Freed from its mask, my face shall shine 
With loving lustre into thine; 
And be thou sinner, and be thou saint, 
Mine eyes shall mark no slightest taint. 

Nay, I shall claim thee as my kin. 

For I am the brother of thy sin. 

Peace to thee, brother — peace, good will, 

For Christ's sweet sake Who loves thee still. 

God helping me, I'll say no word 

That ears shall not rejoice they heard; 

God helping me, within my breast 

None but sweet thoughts this day shall rest. 



46 



A Christmas Fancy 

It pleases me to think that on this blessed day, 
Christ, for His mother's sake, becomes a babe again; 
That all the splendor of His majesty He puts away, 
To nestle close against her breast, as when 
The star of Bethlehem burned bright; that deep 
Within her grateful heart, she feels anew. 
The tense sweet pangs of motherhood — the soft creep 
Of His fingers on her bosom, the dear thrill 
Of groping baby lips; the holy joy of pain and cold. 
"For Thee, my little son — my lamb, my love, for Thee" 
But most of all the glad fruition of the World foretold, 
The wondrous crowning of her white virginity. 

Is it not meet that she should live those marvels o'er, 
And glory that her womb has held a God in thrall? 
"Blest am I as ne'er was woman blest before — 
Jesus, my little son — my Lord — my God — my All!" 



47 



Bethlehem's Babe 

I have a dear lambkin, soft and white, 
To cuddle me close this blessed night. 
And the wind may rage in its wild unrest, 
But it cannot ruffle her downy nest. 

Heart-of-my-heart, I love thee so. 
No one but God can ever know! 

The voice of the wind hath a human sound, 
'Tis like to the crier going his round. 
"Lost child! Lost child!" You could almost vow 
The storm had spoken the words just now. 

Heart-of-my-heart, I love thee so. 
No one but God can ever know! 

No one but God — again that cry — 

Surely the watchman is passing by! 

"Lost child! Lost child! O, ye that are warm, 

A little babe is out in the storm!" 

Heart-of-my-heart — a babe like thee! 
Watchman! Watchman! Who may it be? 

The storm is silent, but lo! once more. 
Someone seems crying outside my door. 
O God, forgive me — I know, I know — 
'Tis Thy dear Son who is in the snow ! 

Heart-of-my-heart ^ awake and see — 
Bethlehem' s babe dost visit thee! 

1481 



Kind Heart and Heavy Purse 

Kind Heart and Heavy Purse, upon the Blessed Day, 
Fared them forth gift laden, along the King's highway; 



And one of them was all aglow with kindliness and cheer 
And laughter bubbled from his lips; and children sprang to 
hear. 

Aye, the sweetness of his presence like a benediction came, 
And everywhere they blessed him — the blind, the halt, the 
lame. 

His gifts, alack! were poor indeed, but oh, his love so shone, 
'Twas like a light that lingered, long after he had gone. 

And he, the other, seeing this, was filled with deep dismay. 
And cried in rage: "Shall I be shamed, along the King's 
highway? 

"Have I not given of my gold with free, unstinting hand? 
Yet see, they court this beggar, while I unnoticed stand! 

"They take my gifts right readily, but never one has said 
*God bless you, sir, and may His love be showered on thy 
head.' " 

[491 



Till one poor soul, o'erhearing him, cried: "Prithee, let me 

speak, 
Mayhap that I can set thee right, though I be poor and 

weak." 

And he in silence motioning, she pointed to his purse, 
And said: "Put thou thy love in that, and it shall lift the 
curse." 

And lo! as one that had been blind, he bowed his head in 

shame: 
"Now God forgive me for my pride— I thank thee, thank 

thee, dame." 

Right lavishly he gave his love, and lavishly his gold, 

And oh, they gave it back to him increased an hundred-fold. 

"Now this indeed hath been for me a blessed, blessed day — 
For I have found new riches along the King's highway." 



50 




DE ANIMA 



When Homo Sapiens Sells His Soul 
for a Monkey Pedigree 

If I was sprung from an anthropoid, 

If I was whelped by an ape, 
If I must go back to the nameless void. 

From which I made my escape; 
If I am but here for a crabbed space. 

To chatter, and smirk, and grin, 
I claim the right of my vassalage — 

I claim the right to Sin! 

If mind is but matter, and matter mind. 

And this soul of mine is a myth, 
If the highest tribute I owe my kind 

Is the coin they have paid me with; 
If there is no God in this dread machine, 

But a cruel and tyrannous Law — 
Then many a fleshly prize shall fill. 

My eager and hungry maw! 

If it came from the hands of the God-head, 

This Simian shape of mine. 
My heart would glow, and my reverence grow. 

And my awe at the Will Divine. 
But you whose terms precise and prim. 

Set forth the shame of my birth. 



53] 



Are strangely reticent, now, of God, 
Or aught that is not of earth. 

And I can read in your silence grim, 

The hope that is half-expressed: 
"We've found the Laws and we'll find the Cause 

Why bother about the rest?" 
But I am of those inclined to fret; 

I am anxious to hear the whole; 
I would like to know, when 'tis time to go, 

If I burrow back like a mole. 

I am childish enough to wish to learn. 

The kind of a death I die. 
For if I believe what Haeckel says. 

Someone has uttered a lie. 
There are several scores to be settled; 

Several joys have been missed; 
A wanton day, to be whiled away, 

And wanton lips to be kissed. 

For if never a better sphere exists. 

Than this one below the moon. 
If when I lay me down to die, 

I am just a dead baboon; 
O, then shall there be such wastreling 

As never an eye hath seen. 
Since abiogenetic Law produced 

This "wide and vast terrene." 



54 



No punishment could be harsh enough, 

To wipe that insult out; 
No turgid flood of Simian blood, 

Could put that shame to route. 
Would you come whimpering, then, to me. 

To be tender to my kind — 
Stop sniffling, Brother Bandar-Log 

"Your tail hangs down behind!" 

Woman, who was it raised you up — 

Know you not that He is fled? 
They killed Him once upon a cross — 

But now His soul is dead! 
He never had a soul, you fool. 

His life was all a lie — 
Twine grape-leaves in your tawny hair. 

We'll wassail, you and I ! 

How now, my friend with pouty paunch 

Who prates to me of Law; 
I long have marveled what contained, 

That pouch beneath your jaw. 
I've wondered if your pig-like eyes. 

Would burst from out your head. 
If I but squeezed it thus — and so — 

Why, bless the ape — he's dead! 

Come, all you little ape-like Rich, 
(I might have known my breed — 



55 



The secret's out, to whosoe'er 
Shall sit and watch you feed) 

And I shall sit a little while, 
And let you gorge yourself; 

Gorge thoroughly, my little apes — 
And then good-bye to pelf! 

White-red-hot monkey corpuscles 

Run riot in my veins; 
No check within the stallion's mouth, 

No hand upon the reins; 
Two thousand years I've been in leash 

Ah! What a woeful waste — 
Shall I not bathe myself in Sin, 

To wash away the taste? 

Up from your sleep, you patient poor, 

Whom Christ has held in check — 
Up and revenge this monstrous wrong 

With cataclysmic wreck! 
They tricked you with a nursery tale, 

Of punishment and pain — 
They cozened you with merit-marks 

Your suffering should gain. 

You have no souls to lose, poor dupes. 

No blest eternity 
To compensate you for your stripes 

And end your slavery! 



[56] 



Christ is down from His bloody cross 
God is down from His throne 

Your all-in-all is here, and now — 
Arise and take your own ! 



If I was sprung from an anthropoid 

This is the song I'll sing: 
A Marseillaise to my brother-apes 

For a bloody reckoning! 
I pray you, therefore, wise savants, 

Take counsel how and when 
You choose to let us apelings know. 

We are no longer men ! 



[57: 



Unbelief 

Faith came a-knocking at the casement, 
But Pride-of-Reason would not let her in: 

"If I must purchase peace with brain-abasement 
Leave me to my doubting and my sin." 

Scarce had she fled, when o'er the casement, 
Fell the shadow of the sable wings of Grief. 

Now, my seared soul begs for self-effacement. 
And my bruised heart hungers for Belief! 



Reveal Thyself 

Lord, make me cognizant of Thee, 
Even though knowledge bring obloquy; 
Yea, though Thou be to my back a rod- 
Make Thyself known — a sentient God! 

Come in Thy anger, and leave me prone- 
Better Thy hate, than to grope alone; 
Better to sense Thee in sickening fear 
Than cry to a God who will not hear! 



58 



Death the Revealer 

O stately Death, how crystal clear 
Dost thou reveal what lieth here! 
How strangely white and luminous 
Dost thou make known his soul to us. 

All difFerence is fled, O Death- 
Gone with the going of his breath; 
All that he was, and strove to be, 
Shines out in simple majesty. 

Too quick to speak the captious word, 
Too proud to speak when that we erred — 
In this poor quiet piece of clay. 
Is purged our selfishness away. 

Yea, Mirror-Death! Now have we seen 
Ourselves — deficient, poor and mean; 
And in that sudden flood of light. 
The sleeper's soul shines wondrous bright. 



59 



A Heavenly Bohemia 

Is there in heaven no quiet place, 
Where a man may go when he tires of grace, 
And longs for a snack of the baser things 
To which his earth-born nature clings; 
Where some such soul as Bobby Burns, 
When his common clay for kindred yearns, 
May turn away from the greater good. 
For the smell of pipes and burning wood, 
The smack of lips that quaff and quaff. 
The harmless joke and the hearty laugh ? 

Is there no fireplace, wide and deep, 

Where the elfin sparks may lurch and leap, 

Space for the kettle to chirp and croon. 

That Dickens may come and catch the tune — 

Checking it off in a cheery chime 

Of words that sing though they have no rhyme; 

Where Thackeray, his chair tipped back. 

May pen them a sketch in white and black, 

That gladdens the heart, then wets the eye. 

Coaxes a laugh and beckons a sigh? 

Is there no nook by the great fireside 
Where the serpent shadows crawl and glide, 
That Poe, more human than all the rest. 
May tell the tales which he loves the best; 

1601 



With face well hidden, and voice sunk low, 
And eyes that shine as the embers glow. 
Thrill them through with a grisly power 
Caught from the black of the midnight hour- 
Or sadly sound a strain so clear 
The angels themselves will pause to hear? 

And all that genial, careless band 
Whose home was in Bohemia-land — 
Will they find Above no single trace. 
Of their old-time joyous dwelling-place? 
Does the voice of genius die with the death 
Of the poor weak body that gave it breath? 
Or is it a part of the soul's own light, 
Part of the soul, and part of its flight? 
A sacrilege? Nay, rather say 
A plan arranged in God's own way! 



[61] 



My House Is All Awry 

If I might keep my house 

All fair and orderly, 
Till that my Lord and Spouse 

Should come to visit me; 
If in my heart were mignonette, 

And all my soul were white, 
What room on earth for vain regret— 

What terror in the night? 

But lo! the shadows creep apace, 

My house is all awry; 
There is no sweetness in the place — 

If Lord God passes by, 
He may not stop, nor may I plead 

To have Him enter in; 
O, sweet my Lord, delay Thy speed 

Till I have cleansed my sin ! 



Up, My Heart! 

Another day, clean, sweet and new, 
God's loving hand holds forth to you — 
By unclean deed, or word, or thought. 
Will you defile what Love has wrought? 



62 



Humanity 

The Hand that spun us into space — 
Wills for a while that we should spin; 
Top-like, the old world turns apace, 
Top-like, the Hand shall draw it in. 

The best that man hath in his heart — 
That is the best the whole world hath; 
Though one shall play a giant part, 
Or one shall tread the primrose path; 

Though this one lift his little voice. 
And nations wait with bated breath; 
Though this one have a princely choice, 
And here, another sport with death; 

Though one shall shrive, and one shall bless, 
Though one shall sing, and one shall rule; 
Though thou be great, and I be less. 
Though I be king, and thou his fool: 

Still are we what we are — sink deep 

The shafts of that into thy soul! 

Beg Him who made, that thou may'st creep, 

By slow degrees, unto thy goal. 



63 



To One Who Walked in Darkness 

Lean freely on my arm, old friend; 
The way is hard, but — we near the end. 



You that have lived so long in night, 
A little farther, and then — the light. 

Be still, hot heart, nor vex, nor fret; 
Comes now the Lethe-hour — forget ! 

Spirit that soared with broken wing — 
A truce to further journeying. 

Soul of imprisoned minstrelsy — 
Dreams shall return thy song to thee. 

Life deprived of its ultimate — 
Sleep shall be thy inchoate. 

Good-night, old friend, the journey's o'er; 
A little groping, and then — no more. 



Christ, on his seared and weary eyes, 
Lay Thy cool hand in Paradise. 



64 



A Glimmering 

All night long have I gloomed it here, 
My throat engripped by the ultimate fear; 
With my hand in the hand of a chill despair, 
The nearness of Death is my lightest care. 

My fire is out, and the embers dead 
No blacker are than the hope that's fled. 
The bleak, gray dawn creeps on apace, 
But brings no ray to my charnel-place. 

The game is lost, and the race is run— 
The candles guttered, one by one. 
Both Love and Life have I shown the door — 
But Life skulks with me as before. 

As far as my eyes can pierce the blue. 
As deep as the hell my hate sees through, 
There is never a glint nor a gleam for me 
Of things worth while that are still to be. 

And yet — in the innermost husk of my soul — 
Some whisper remote of an unsensed goal; 
From out of the wrack that engulfs me quite, 
From the lips of despair; in the voice of the blight; 

A shadow of surety, as vague as the breath 
That flutters a bird from life to death. 
That I am but journeying on to a place 
Where Peace shall bend over and kiss my face. 

[651 



Vanity of Vanities 

Somehow, the pomp and circumstance of state. 

The hushed environment that cloaks the worldly great, 

And all the breathless awe that hedges round 

The sacred persons of the wealth-renowned, 

In these my later years still leave me unimpressed — 

I can but shake my head and say, "Is this your best?" 

Your little man whose strange facility 

Is that of causing coin to heap prodigiously. 

Is just a dry and leathery little man. 

With just a fixed and formal little span — 

Beyond his shifting shoulder, I can see 

The same snug bed that gapes for you and me. 

In this and this alone doth he excel — 

That which he sought to do he hath done well; 

And if my nobler task be incomplete. 

Then may I learn by sitting at his feet. 

And yet — had he coined love instead of gold, 

Some praise I'd give which now I must withhold. 



66 



God's Garden 

Sweet roses in thy heart, roses and mignonette; 
Thoughts pure and fragrant as the woodland violet; 
Tender herbs of purpose, flowers of sentiment — 
All these God the Gardener lavishly hath lent. 

O be thou then His almoner, lest all thy flowers die — 
Give gladly of thy garden to whoso passeth by; 
For every rose thou givest, another rose will bloom — 
But the blossom that thou hoardest thou hoardest 
to its doom. 

Sweet roses in thy heart, roses and mignonette; 
Thoughts pure and fragrant as the woodland violet; 
Tender herbs of purpose, flowers of sentiment — 
All these God the Gardener lavishly hath lent. 



"Judge Not" 

This much unerringly I know — 
That were my soul as white as snow, 
And I should look with scorn on thee. 
My whiteness would depart from me. 



67 



Conscience 

Last night, while heart and lips were frivoling, all un-pre- 

paredly 
My little black and shriveled soul confronted me; 
With ribald laughter ringing loud, full in the flush of foolish 

pride, 
Naked I stood before my God, and sought in vain to hide! 

Sweet music spoke to my senses, and soft, luring sounds 
Beckoned me back. But the black soul had burst its bounds, 
And step by step, all trembling, to the very threshold of the 

Throne — 
Before my Judge, it led and left me, prone. 

And while in mute and wretched woe, I waited for the wrath- 
ful word, 
Lo! all my terror fell away. In ecstasy I heard 
The tone compassionate of Him who died for us on Calvary: 
"Rise, son, and go in peace! Thy sins are all forgiven thee." 



68 



Guard Well Thy Heart! 

Guard well thy heart! Lest passion sweep 
The chords, and God's sweet melody 

Be lost; lest from the ruins leap 
The spirit of unrest set free, 

And o'er thy life dark chaos fall. 

Guard well thy heart! Rest not content 
With visions fair. Unwearied seek 

Till thou hast found the true Love sent 
By Him who watcheth o'er the weak. 
Who heeds the suppliant's call. 

Guard well thy heart! Its throbbing life 
Protect with jealous care. Be not 

Dismayed, though bitter grow the strife 
And fierce contention mark thy lot — 
Fear not — One ruleth over all. 



[69 







BIRTHDAYS 



Theodora's Birthdays 
1906 

Six years old 

And good as gold; 

So very good, it makes us blush 
When people say: "She's really 
Yours?"— O, hush! 

1907 

"Six years old and good as gold" — 
Do you remember, dearie? 

Now here's another — last year's brother, 
With greeting bright and cheery. 

O, little year, we're glad you're here. 
Be kind, because we love her — 

Bring pleasant ways and gentle days 
And smiling skies above her. 



[73] 



Theodora 

As good as gold? Yes, just as good 
As in your lilting babyhood. 
Aye, better, sweeter, now, to me, 
Then ever babyhood could be. 

Your goodness then, was just a fact. 
But now it is a conscious act; 
You nothing knew of right or wrong — 
But, knowing, now, your soul is strong. 

You carry God within your heart, 
Who did not then His strength impart; 
Gold of His gold is in your life, 
To hearten you against its strife. 

Be strong in Him — but be afraid 
To venture far without His aid; 
When God goes with you, then goes Joy, 
And Life is gold without alloy. 

But when He waits for you in vain, 
Ah! then is Sorrow born, and Pain. 
If you would laugh, and dance, and sing, 
Take God on all your journeying. 



74 



Ask of your heart: "Is God within, 
Or have I banished Him with Sin? 
Ah! haste my heart and call Him back, 
Ere all the sky grow grim and black." 

Journey with God unto the end, 
And Life will every blessing send; 
Journey with Self and Self shall be 
The source of all Self's misery. 

Seventeen 

May there be close about you, in this most gracious year. 
Gentlefolk of God, to preserve your vision clear. 



Virgins, saints and angels — a goodly company, 
To fashion all your ways most meet and mannerly. 

Cherubim and seraphim, to set your thoughts a-singing — 
Bird-thoughts, and joy-thoughts, with an upward winging. 

Francis of Assisi to gild each morning's glory — 

To make of every blade of grass a dear and separate story. 

Thomas of the Schoolmen, to attend you in your learning; 
Thomas, called a' Kempis, to keep your love a' burning. 



But, most of all, my dearest dear, the immanence of Her, 
Whose very name is like to spice of frankincense and myrrh! 



75 




REFLECTIVE 



The Mark of the Brute 

Here comes a tiger in the crowded city streets, 

With a nod and a smile for everyone he meets; 

He has filed down his fangs, he has covered up his hide — 

But the tiger in the tiger until death doth abide! 

* * * 

You loom hideous to me — you ordinary Man, 

In your decent tweed, with your decent smiling face; 

You loom hideous when I stop to scan 

What lies beneath. In your measured pace. 

And orderly demeanor, I see another gait. 

And scent another guise. I see you in the dark. 

All panther-poised with passion — brute-elate 

With base, gnawing eagerness. If I hark, 

I can almost hear you snarling, too, and see 

Your mouth drip viciousness. Yet who am I 

That I should mark or hark, whate'er you be — 

Brute-brothers are we, brother, brute-brothers passing by! 



[79 



You and I the Pharisee 

You and I are one — no accident of fate, 
No mere discrepancy of birth, or high estate, 
No slight divergence in the paths we tread 
Can change the goal to which we both are led. 

Your little hopes, and plans, and joys, and fears. 
Your hidden pangs, and secret, bitter tears, 
I, too, have known them— lived your inmost life; 
Felt all that you have felt; been sharer in your strife. 

And who am I, forsooth, that know you so? Why, 
Who but the drunkard you saw reeling by. 
I am the loathsome beggar on the street; 
I am all things hideous that you meet. 

Yes, all things vile am I, and still your brother — 
That bond shall hold though you shall loose all other; 
And all things good I am, and all things human — 
All things that travail from the womb of woman! 

Close-packed among a million, million men, 

O, atomy of God, you do not pass beyond my ken; 

We two are twain, with but one crust to share — 

We live, we love, we seek at last some unknown Where! 

Life — though you cover it with cloth of gold — 

Life — though you drain it of every drop it hold — 

Life still is life, a fixed and formal span. 

And you and I — Gold help us ! — must do the best we can ! 

1801 



Labor Day 

I hear the tread of marching feet 
Come blithely down the cheering street; 
I hear the fife — the fanfarade 
Of piercing bugles, shrill and glad. 
Like wounded birds against the sky 
I see the lurching flags go by — 
But O, thank God, no clank of steel 
To threat our cherished nation's weal! 

No clank of steel, no sullen, glum 

Foreboding of a mufiled drum; 

No stifled sobs, no silent crowd. 

With snow-white heads in anguish bowed; 

No hideous flag-draped caisson 

To tell of battles lost tho' won; 

No, no, thank God, if there be strife, 

The guerdon is not Death, but Life! 

O you that march, if aught there be 
Estrangeth other hearts from thee, 
'Tis not a wound for war to heal. 
But time, and peace, and power to feel. 
Thank God for that — thank God that we 
Shall learn to set each other free; 
Tho' each by each misunderstood, 
Thank God, one common brotherhood ! 

[81] 



To-morrow 

So many things to do, my heart, so many left undone, 
So many tasks unfinished at the setting of the sun; 
So many dreams unrealized, so many hopes forsworn — 
Come, cooling Night, and strengthen me to face the urgent 
Morn! 

How many suns shall rise and set and find us still distraught! 
How many high resolves shall fail, and strivings come to 

naught! 
O breath-of-life! let me at least this poor concession win — 
That I may still fight on and on, while darkness closeth in! 

fleeting, false To-morrow, I hear thy honeyed voice; 

1 read the lie upon thy lips that bids my heart rejoice; 
I know it for the lie it is — I hug it to my breast — 

Lead on, and I will follow thee, thou luring light of rest! 



82 



The Master Builder 

When the whole world says: "Well done, well done!' 
When the heights are climbed, and the fight is won; 

When the thing you've made with hand or heart 
Is eagerly sought in the crowded mart; 

When you know it's good to the very core. 
And no one asks you to give him more; 

When you know that a golden flood is yours 
As long as your average good endures; 

When that average good would be called the best. 
For years and years, if you chose to rest; 

Ah! That is a moment big with fate. 
When Life and Destiny watch and wait 

With anxious eye, to see which path 
Your soul shall choose for the aftermath! 

That is the hour reserved to few, 

When men do more than they have to do; 

When the thing to be done is the all-in-all; 

When no thought of reward holds the will in thrall; 

[831 



When the spirit says to humanity: 

"I'll give you more than you ask of me — 

"I'll make my best of Yesterday 

"A thing To-morrow shall throw away." 

This is the hour which checks and weighs 
And measures a man for all his days; 

This is the hour you fall or rise — 
This is the hour Man lives or dies ! 



84 




APPRECIATION 



Appreciation 

As the sun does, among wet blades of wheat — 

Curling the edges with a gentle heat, 

That swift makes fresh each drooping bit. 

And puts strange life and beauty into it; 

So from my heart that was as dead. 

In that its power for love had fled; 

So hast thou brought from out the blight, 

Rich dew of love with thy soul's light. 

For lo! Thou art in verity my sun, 

Whose presence, like a day with prayer begun, 

Incentive gives to sweet and nobler things — 

To scorn of fortune's futile flouts and flings. 

A February Thaw 

Far down the sullen sky 

A glare of angry red; 
A group of clouds whirled by, 

One patch of blue o'erhead. 

In the air, ghostly mist; 

On the earth, grimy snow; 
Spots the warm sunlight's kissed. 

Brown and emerald show. 

Lull for a moment, then 
The tree- tops bend and sway; 

The light flares up again. 
And all is dank and gray. 

[871 



Glory 

A nimble of wheels and a throb of drums, 
Huzza for the hero! he comes, he comes! 

A nodding of plumes and a clash of steel, 
The clatter of hoofs, and the lurch and reel 
Of a multitude swaying, around, about, 
With a sigh and a sob that is half a shout. 

But the hero's eyes they are like to lead. 
They see not the weeping, gray skies o'erhead; 
His great gnarled hands, they lie at rest, 
The lion head hath a silken nest. 

And only the woman who rides behind. 
Hot with the tears that choke and blind, 
Knows that the hero they mourn to-day 
Was molded of lies, from a coward clay. 

A rumble of wheels and a throb of drums, 
Huzza for the hero! he comes, he comes! 



[88] 



Recollections 

A simple word, a pleading look, 

The turned-down page of a musty book, 

A throb of loneliness, a sigh — 

The forms of the past steal softly by. 

Through the gray mist of distant years. 
Silent they come, in a veil of tears; 
Come unsummoned — the holy dead. 
Come, and go, ere the heart-ache's fled. 

A song, a strain of music sweet, 
A glow where sunlight and shadow meet — 
Our hearts are instruments tuned by fate. 
Love strikes a chord, and the strings vibrate. 



[89: 



The Bird is on the Wing 

Where now we walk in plenitude of peace and love, 

In silent understanding that surpasseth speech, 

Some night shall come our friend, the Moon, and from above 

Peer down within this garden-home, and look about for each 

Familiar, friendly face. The slumbrous stillness of the place 

Shall stir with all the sweet, accustomed sounds; the flowers 

Will lift their heavy heads a little space to fling 

Their friend faint incense; secure within their leafy bowers; 

The drowsy birds shall croon, as if impelled to wake and sing; 

The wind shall laugh among the leaves, and all things that 

live 
Shall seem to breathe, and dream, and speak of love and joy 

alone. 
Yet one of us shall walk this garden-path in tears, and give 
Back grief for all Earth's loveliness. Therefore, my own. 
Drink deeply of the night! To thy heart's core absorb 
The sweetness of this solitude. Laugh with the laughing 

wind. 
Fling perfume with the nodding flower, smile with the smiling 

orb — 
For life is love and love is life — so let us, love, to all things 

else be blind! 



90 



The Delectable Day 

Each morn I lift the brimming goblet up; 
Each morn I say: "Now, truly, shall I sup 
The sweet intoxicant of Life from out this cup." 

And lo! like Music quenched ere yet 'tis born. 
Like smiling lips upcurled in sudden scorn, 
The promise of the cup is swift forsworn. 

My soul doth sit within the watch-tower, eager-eyed; 
My soul hath many luring Dawns descried; 
But ah! The Dawn of Dawns is never verified! 

Ashes of roses, bitter-sweet upon the lip; 
Sweet words silenced by relentless finger-tip; 
Waters of gold we mortals may not sip ! 

And yet I hug the dear delusion to my breast; 
Though each to-morrow shall be mate to all the rest- 
With fatuous Hope unto the end let me be blest! 



91 



Recrudescence 

Eye-deep in wisdom, just now there came to me, 
Here in my cloistered nook — quite unaccountably- 
One wild, salt whiff of early-morning youth. 
So poignant, and so full of gipsy truth. 
That all my regiment of proper years 
Recoiled aghast and hurried from the jeers 
Which this, the newer, older, wiser me, 
Flung at their grim respectability. 

It was as if a window opened wide. 

And glad hallooing summoned me outside. 

I smelled the savor of the roaring sea. 

And felt the spray tossed up the cliffs to me. 

The gray, dull order of my chambered thought, 

Dazed at the swift transition, fled distraught — 

Fled from the piping of a pixy strain 

That brought me back sweet incoherency again. 

And O the fine swift running of my blood ! 
And O the joy of life, the pent-up flood 
Of tender promptings, and the rebel thrill 
Of full surrender to a vagrant will ! 
Moon-mad, star-mad, the comrade of the trees — 
Head back, and cup up — drain it to the lees; 
Witch-like my spirit rode upon the night. 
Earth-like my being drank the Earth's delight! 

[921 



The Law 

A man may make for his Love a bed; 

And though they be mated, he is not wed — 

A man may love with his soul aloof; 

But a Woman is wedded in warp and woof. 

And he is not bad; and he is but Man; 
And such he was when the world began — 
A martyr, a hero, a sage, a saint — 
And a wanton, beneath, in ill-restraint. 

"I will love me One; I will love me Two; 
And unto both shall my heart be true." 
But this is the price that he pays and pays — 
That he is not sated in all his days. 

This is the Law that was made of old — 
Man may not squander his heart's true gold; 
Man may not flout his leal mate, 
Or Life will render him back in hate. 

This is the Law, break which, O man. 
You walk accurst among your clan; 
Albeit you love in dark or day. 
Peace shall flee from your skulking way. 

Wiser the Woman — yclept the fool — 
She is queen of Love, who seems its tool; 
Trusty, steadfast, tender, true — 
Life shall bend the knee to you. 

[931 



Revelation 

Here in the murmurous silence, where perfect peace is rife, 
Let us pause within our secret selves and drink the wine of 
life. 

Come now, O love, the awesome hour, when we shall grasp 

at length, 
The essence of existence — the crux of perfect strength. 

Here in the moon-patched woodland; here in the vibrant 

night. 
All palpitant with elfin-sounds — our eyes shall see aright. 

With ears attuned exquisitely to each significance 
Of turf and tree, and warmth of wind, and moon-lit waters 
dance; 

With quickened souls to catch the hint borne to us^from afar, 
Of spiritual whisperings 'twixt flashing star and star; 

Bathed in the liquid loveliness of earth and firmament — 
We shall sense this mystic message from the heart of heaven 
sent. 

O, it shall steal across the Night as comes the phantom sigh 
Of harp-strings humming softly when the dusk-wind rustles 
by. 

Aye, such a thin, celestial note, the wafer Sun might send, 
That dips below the brooding waves when Day is at an end. 

As roses fold their petals — as blades spring from the ground, 
The night shall breathe a wisdom too ethereal for sound. 

[94] 



From far-ofF fairy bugles my soul hath caught the Word — 
And O, dear love, my eyes are wet with what my soul hath 
heard. 

For now I know how poor a thing my little love hath been — 
So much of Me, so little Thee, it made of love a sin. 

But sin more grievous far was that which dreamed that 

aught of earth 
Without the aid of Love Divine could give one blessing birth. 

Thy love for me, my love for thee, and ours for humankind — 
Each, each, and all, in God alone, can full fruition find. 

And this our love no slightest trace of selfishness may hold, 
For love to live, must give and give — coin of the heart's true 
gold. 

"Abandon all," the bugles call, "with blind and fatuous 

trust — 
Without dismay, pursue thy way, though beggared to a crust. 

"Live in thy love as in a house of alabaster white. 

Aye, make thy house a sacred shrine, aglow with holy light. 

"Breathe thou sweet breath upon thy love, and lift it like a 

cross. 
Which thou shalt follow valiantly through hurt and pain and 

loss. 

"Abandon all — abandon all — for Love's the master-key 
Which opens wide the souls of men and sets the spirit free!" 



95 



The Traveler 

Came there One all worn with travel, and paused him at our 

gate; 
*Twas the brooding hour of twilight, and we bade him rest 

and wait. 
"See," we said, "the shadows gather — fare no farther, then, 

to-night, 
Join us here in love and laughter — we prithee, sir, alight." 
Then he sighed, and looked about him, and his eyes drank in 

the sheen 
Of the softly running water, and the banks of tender green; 
And we sate in solemn silence, that his soul might know the 

thrill 
That comes with perfect beauty, when the spirit drinks its 

fill. 
Till one stepped softly forward, with the love-light in her eyes. 
And in sudden stress of courage spake him quietly thuswise: 
"If thy mission calls thee farther, sir, we would not have thee 

stay; 
But if Beauty be thy mission — how canst thou say us nay?" 
And the moon came up in glory, as an answer to her word, 
And an answer leaped to meet it, from some golden-throated 

bird: 
"O life, O life, I love thee," thrilled the bird in ecstasy; 
"O life— O love— O life— O love" (the echoes bore it) "O life, 

O love — love me." 
Through all the soft, low breathing of the hushed and pensive 

earth, 

[961 



Ran the same sweet, magic message, of love, and joy, and 

mirth; 
The tree-tops spoke it softly, and a balsam breath of pine 
Sped it swiftly down the hollows, to the hidden eglantine; 
The brook went laughing to it, to the water-lily's bed. 
And the wheeling night-hawk bore it to the waiting stars 

o'erhead. 

* * * 

Know ye him who would not tarry — know ye her who bade 

him stay? 
Art thou not thyself, a seeker, for the distant, perfect day — 
For the day of full fruition — for the day that may not be, 
For the light beyond the hilltop which thine eyes may never 

see? 
O dear heart, who lovest Beauty, and thou who lovest life, 
Seize the beauty of this moment, and live it free from strife. 
Grasp the loveliness about you, for To-morrow is a dream, 
And the splendor o'er the hilltops but a fatal fen-fire's gleam. 



[97] 



Motherhood 

She planted them — her earth-brown hair, 
Close, loving close, to the cool, brown earth, 
Her finger tips athrill with anticipative birth 

Of red, red beauty, she and I should share. 



God gave her kinship, with all growing things, 
And she was glad, and nothing loth. 
To be herself, the source of growth — 

What bird of God protesteth at its wings? 

No man is more than mere participant, 

In such high womanl^ood as this; 

For unto God is given her first kiss — 
She is His artisan and His hierophant. 

Nature ennobled, soars to splendid height — 

In partnership with God's emprise. 

Clear-eyed, she looks into His eyes, 
And finds herself all radiant in His sight. 

Unto her seeds have come the miracle of birth — 
The power she knew, because she knew her own, 
In red, red beauty, now is blown — 

Her rose-bush blows, who blooms no more on earth. 



Good-bye! Good-bye! 

Just a word ere you go, old friend, 

Just a word ere the oarsmen bend. 

And your boat speeds out on the unknown sea, 

Whose nether shore is eternity. 

Turn once more, dear grizzled head, 

Before the last faint light has fled. 

Turn, and give us the brave old smile. 

That warmed and nourished our hearts erstwhile. 

The night is closing, our eyes are wet. 
But see! There's time for a signal yet- 
Quick! Ere thy bark hath left the sand, 
Give us a wave of your cheery hand! 

And hark to our answer winging back. 
Far o'er the waters cold and black. 
Straight to the foot of the great white throne 
Where the Master waits to greet His own: — 

Christ! Be good to him to the end. 
For he was a friend — a friend — a friend. 



99 



Index 

America, 1898 

America, 1923 

Ammuricans 

87 
Appreciation 

4.0 
Bethlehem's Babe 

Bird is on the Wing, The ^^ 

Caution 

Cave Sedem 

Cheerful Thought, A ^^ 

47 
Christmas Fancy, A 

n • ... 68 

Conscience 

Conservation 

Death the Revealer 

91 

13 



Delectable Day, The 



Deo Gratias 

87 
February Thaw, A 

Flag-of-My-Heart ^^ 

Glimmering, A 

Glory 

God's Garden ^^ 

[ 101 ] 



Good-bye Childhood 42 

Good-bye! Good-bye! 99 

Guard Well Thy Heart! 69 

Heavenly Bohemia, A 60 

Humanity 63 

I Wish 35 

"Judge Not" 67 

Kind Heart and Heavy Purse 49 

Labor Day 81 

Law, The 93 

Little Boy in Me, The 33 

Mark of the Brute, The 79 

Master Builder, The 83 

Motherhood 98 

My House is All Awry 62 

A Pledge! A Pledge! 28 

Recollections 89 

Recrudescence 92 

Reveal Thyself 58 

Revelation 94 

Scissor-Grinder Man, The 40 

Seventeen JS 

Speak Out, My Heart 46 

The Flag! The Flag! 28 

[1021 



Theodora 74 

Theodora's Birthdays 73 

To-morrow 82 

To One Who Walked in Darkness 64 

Traveler, The 96 

Unbelief 58 

Up, My Heart 62 

Vanity of Vanities 66 

When Homo Sapiens Sells His Soul for a Monkey Pedigree S3 

When We Played at Being Robbers 38 

You and I the Pharisee 80 

Yule-Tide Pledge, A 45 



103 



